


Rugby

by ShadowHaloedAngel



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Cissnei and Yuffie should never commentate on anything, Crack, Eye Candy, Multi, Other, Rugby Union, Sports, Turks vs SOLDIER, perving on unsuspecting men, use of Prolegomenon OCs, yes the perving is deliberate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-14
Updated: 2012-08-14
Packaged: 2017-11-12 03:20:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/486091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadowHaloedAngel/pseuds/ShadowHaloedAngel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The time has come for the annual Turks vs SOLDIER rugby match and the crowds have turned out to watch all the gorgeous men in tiny shorts engaging in athletic combat. It's amazing what it's possible to get away with in tackles and the scrum... and in the commentary box...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rugby

**Author's Note:**

> Prolegomenon is a series written by a friend of mine intended to fill in the years between Vincent's death and Before Crisis. It's based heavily on canon research, and was mainly geared towards the Turks. This was a present for that friend, and also, I needed more Turks/characters generally to flesh out the teams. the OCs aren't mine but were used with permission, and could be viewed as characters with the potentiality to be canon if that time period had ever been accounted for.

The sun was bright, the air was crisp, and the grass waved gently in the breeze as thirty pairs of studded boots tramped out onto the immaculate turf of the ShinRa sports stadium.

"Well fanboys and fangirls-... I mean... ladies and gentlemen, it's a fabulous day here at the ShinRa sports stadium, as we witness the annual clash between the giants of SOLDIER, and the blue warriors of the Turks!"

"For the Turks, in a black strip - oh please god let them strip OW Cissnei don't do that! - we have Biggie, Rude and Smallie in the front row, Katana and Rod in the second, and completing the pack we have Tseng and Veld, with Jet at number eight. At half back, we have Evander and Stuyve, with Reno and Harold in the centre, Janson and Yeni on the wings and most gorgeous man on- CISSNEI!, Vincent Valentine at fullback."

"The SOLDIER team, however, have had to make a few changes to their starting lineup due to unforseen circumstances, which I swear have nothing to do with anything any Turk may have done to the SOLDIER shampoo supplies. In the front row, in a rather fetching golden yellow" Cissnei's tone dripped with irony "We have Barrett, Cid and Angeal, West and Jonadab at Lock, and Lando, Sephiroth and the ever-recognisable Zack Fair at number 8 completing the back row. D.A is at scrum half, with Cole at Outside half. On the wing, both blonde, we have the unknown Cloud Strife, and ShinRa's own vice president Rufus Shinra, out today for SOLDIER. Hopefully we'll see some of his fantastic and well-famed stamina today. Genesis Rhapsados and Lazard Deusericus are playing in the centre, and Kunsel is at fullback."

"So it's Stuyve to start, and he kicks off. Not a brilliant beginning, but it's well taken by Adam West and-... oh, no, Katana just ran over him. Turnover, Turk ball."

"And oh boy do the Turks have balls"

"Shut up you stupid prepubescent ninja."

"I am NOT prepubescent! I have pubes! Look!"

"Put your shorts back on idiot, NOONE wants to see that. Anyway, the Turks are driving well, with Tseng taking on Sephiroth. He went into the tackle strongly, and looks to be enjoying every minute of it..."

Tseng let out a satisfying grunt at the impact. He'd struck the SOLDIER true enough, and his momentum was continuing as he felt his team mates joining from behind, driving the maul forward. And there was certainly mauling going on. When the SOLDIER tried to rip the ball away he was certain the aim of that hand had been slightly off. Considering, however, that he was practically nuzzling the silver haired general's crotch, he licked his lips and let the rest of the Turks drive him through, briefly wondering who it was who'd been pushing quite so enthusiastically against his ass.

"And the Turks are through, the SOLDIER are flooding back to stem the tide of black shirts, Tseng to Janson, to Katana, to Valentine~...HE'S SCORED! LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, VINCENT VALENTINE HAS SCORED FOR THE TURKS! Highwind wasn't quite fast enough for the tackle, and the Turks have a try."

Meanwhile, on the field, Vincent Valentine raised an eyebrow and pointedly moved the hand of his blond assailant from where it had oh-so-accidentally come to rest on the front of his well-filled shorts as he climbed to his feet. He passed the ball over to Stuyve and the stadium fell silent as the crowd held their collective breath and he sent the ball flying straight and true between the posts, to claim their seven points.

"And so, ladies and gentlemen, less than ten minutes in, and the Turks are ahead, 7 to nil, and it's Cole with the restart."

"Yes, that was the referee's whistle, because evidently the asshat cannot kick it ten metres. Seriously, this is the best SOLDIER have to offer? I thought these guys were supposed to be enhanced. Anyway, the Turks have elected for the restart to be taken again, which I'm pretty sure is just for shits and giggles. Let's see if the bright hope has the ability to actually make contact with the ball this time."

"Look! He did it! he did it!"

"Will wonders never cease..."

"And it's Katana with the take! He's really playing well today, but then, we just are the best, thats why the Turks are winning. They have Katana, and Tseng, and VINNY! Even though he's not Wutaiain, he's almost as goo- OW!"

Katana was conscious of his body as he moved, every muscle loose, ready to perform to its best. He was a warrior, and even his body was a weapon. His eyes coolly scanned the field in front of him, at once aware of every single enemy. His stride was graceful and his hair streamed in the breeze as every movement of his toned body was emphasised by the rather close-fitting uniform, which at once left too little and too much to the imagination. He seemed to radiate power, authority, his cool confidence only increasing his sheer majesty. He could sense his teammates behind him, and so, at the very moment a certain general came charging down like a raging bull, his own impressive physique showing to its best, the Turk snapped a pass out to the side,

"And it's Katana to Jet, who finds Evander, though those two always work well together, Evander makes a short break, then passes to Reno, some good teamwork there, and to Tseng...and he's tackled!"

Tseng could not help but let out an oof as the sensation of being manhandled comprehensively by two strong men expelled the air from his lungs. He found himself buried beneath the flawless physique of the silver general, and even as he tried to fight the other's overwhelming air of dominance which seemed to command him from his core, coaxing him to fall with this vengeful angel, he found himself unable to release the ball, pinned as he was by that deliciously toned and wiry body of the vice president. They seemed to be everywhere, the entire world, the very air around him consisting of nothing but them, as his obsidian eyes darted between those mako green pools, with a hint of dark desire, and the sapphires which were deepened by lust and adrenalin. He almost shuddered, and the whistleblow seemed to come from a long way away as the referee awarded the SOLDIER team a penalty. As the two tacklers climbed off him, the young Wutaiain felt almost wistful, but he was soon brought back to reality by a scathing glance from his superior, his captain. Veld looked less than amused at his protegy's susceptibility to Sephiroth's intoxicating allure. Shaking himself, Tseng turned, once more ready to lose himself in the game, a warning voice echoing in the back of his mind to take extra care of Sephiroth and Rufus' positions, though he wasn't sure whether its motivation was surrendering to or avoiding tackles.

"With SOLDIER awarded a penalty for holding on, Kunsel takes the kick... he may have been aiming for touch, but it didn't quite get there on its own. Then again I think people are more impressed that his foot made contact with the ball, so he deserves credit for that at least."

"And the SOLDIER have the lineout. Cid Highwind, the hooker, looking rather fetching in his sunshine yellow uniform, but no matter how hard you try Cid, you'll never be able to get my Vinny, he only has eyes for- Cissnei, stop it! - there's the throw, and look at those second rows fly, Jonadab with the take, but the referee's whistle has gone, he says the throw wasn't straight..."

"I'm not convinced there's anything on this entire field that's straight, so that's no surprise. However, scrum on the Turk 22, Turks have the put in, and the two teams are enjoying lining up for this far too much."

The men on the field began positioning themselves for the scrum, the two front rows squaring up, eyeing each other warily as the second rows joined them, the formations flawless, neat. They bent to set, various seams straining as the thin fabric of the white shorts struggled to contain the sheer muscular power. Various backs couldn't help but lick their lips a little at that rather delicious sight, and to say the referee was distracted was an understatement. Tseng took his place behind Katana, bending over, head next to the other's hips, shoulder against his rather nice ass, ready to push.

At the referee's command, the two sides charged together, a roiling sea of machismo and rippling muscles as they battled for physical domination, pressed close together, grunting with the effort.

"Good competition for the ball, and it's come back for the Turks, safe in Evander's hands, although that might not be where the SOLDIER want their balls to be. Turk posession again, with Evander to Rod to Jet, to Veld to-... and it's intercepted by Sephiroth!"

"The Demon of Wutai is making a break for the line, the black shirts falling back in an attempt at scrambled defence, Yeni goes for the tackle but Sephiroth steps aside easily, hands off Vinny- YOU BASTARD - and we have the second try of the game, ladies and gentleman, a quarter of the way through and we are level pegging!"

Sephiroth barely broke sweat as he strode easily, gracefully over the line, muscles rippling, that casual little smirk barely curving his lips. His mercurial waterfall of hair streamed out behind him, and he grounded the ball with supreme confidence, an unquestionable air of superiority surrounding him. Time for a victory celebration, to show those Turks who they were dealing with. He pulled off the top half of his well-fitting strip and hung it over his shoulder, his wonderfully defined but not overtly muscular pectorals flexing, his six-pack gleaming as if it was oiled, the barest hint of those sharp hipbones showing with every other step as the elastic of his shorts bobbed with his stride. His mako green eyes, the pupils narrowed with the fever of competition, the sheer joy of this exercise, scanned the field, settling for a moment on the younger of the two Wutaiain Turks. Sephiroth's lips curved more smugly as he detected the merest shiver beneath the other's pitiful attempt at an unaffected facade, and, with feigned unconcern, he sauntered past, feeling the other's onyx eyes on him. He brushed his shirt past the other's face as if by accident, and Tseng's eyes closed on reflex as he inhaled that almost overpowering musk of masculinity that permeated everything about the god-like man.

"Once everyone in the stadium has finished spurting blood everywhere, and the tissue vendors have lined their pockets, Cole will take the conversion."

"Oh, what a surprise, he missed. Seriously? He needs to do something soon to justify his existence on the team, otherwise the SOLDIER coach will be having words in the dressing room, and I think the SOLDIER captain might be having more than words. Anyway, it's a Turk restart, and, as ever, Stuyve is underlining the differences between the two teams. Like the fact that he can actually kick. Taken by... Hewley... well, that's a turn up for the books, you don't usually see props who can catch, but anyway, Hewley, to Jonadab, to West-... who is tackled again. I think Rude hit him hard, he doesn't look like he's moving."

"Actually, I think you'll find he is moving, he's just.. twitching a little."

"Are we going to have injury time?"

"For that waste of space? No. Play on. He'll get up. Eventually."

"And so the Turks are back in possession, Reno is on the run, and he looks...surprisingly good."

The wiry redhead sported a fierce grin as he broke through the first line of the lumbering SOLDIER defence. He wasn't naturally muscular, but he was toned, and he was fast. His thigh and calf muscles flexed as he sprinted, but his triumph was short lived as Rufus ShinRa bore him heavily into touch. When the icy blonde got up and walked casually away, Reno's face matched his hair. He wasn't entirely sure that hands were supposed to go there in a tackle, however, it wasn't his fault he'd ended up in such a clinch with the VP. He really hadn't needed to know that the man was wearing nothing under his shorts.

"Reno carried neatly into touch by Rufus there, and it must be said he has turned a rather interesting colour as a result of that, however, let's not speculate on the causes of that. Lineout, SOLDIER throw."

"Highwind is certainly very confident with the ball in the hand"

"But we won't lower ourselves to speculate on that. Well taken by Jonadab, though in their haste to provide backup the men lifting West seem to have forgotten to help him down and he looks like he landed rather roughly. He'll be fine, I'm sure. More's the pity."

"Indeed, however, the SOLDIER are looking very good on the ball now, with fluid possession, good hands and good ball-handling skills. Zack Fair now, classic number eight, driving the ball forward into the opposition, trying to break through that wall of Turks which seems to slam down before the SOLDIER attacks. The SOLDIER recycle quickly, and this drive is continuing. It's D.A. feigning a pass out, but he goes himself instead, dodging between Biggie and Smallie. He has support, and they're coming up to the halfway line."

"SOLDIER are still going forward, with Genesis Rhapsados taking the ball once more into contact, but he manages to pass out to Lando, to Strife, to Rufus ShinRa... the VP is going for the line now, he dodges the Turk front row... and..."

Rufus could see the line ahead of him, and he smirked again with his customary casual arrogance as he dived forward-... a black blur in his peripheral vision, and suddenly a collision. He was borne towards the line, desperately groping forward, determined to ground the ball, but the touch judge's flag was up. He looked up to see the crimson eyes of his assailant dancing a little with nigh-sadistic glee at having got one over on the VP. Most people would kill to have had Rufus ShinRa in a clinch like that, and here he was getting it for nothing.

"Now, the referee hasn't yet awarded the try, so we'll be going to the video referee. In future by the way, you stupid teenage mutant ninja thing, tell your boyfriend to keep his hands off mine."

"Vincent doesn't need your dumbfuck pretty boy! Anyway, just because he's the Vice President, doesn't mean he's the world's most perfect man! he can't even score!"

"You bitch! He scored alright! just look!"

"Nuh-uh!"

"Uh-huh!"

"Nuh-uh!"

"Uh-huh!"

"Nuh-uh!"

"Oh, wait, we have a decision... and the referee says no try! What the fuck?! You fucking idiot! of course he scored! It was over the fucking line!"

"SUCK ON THAT! He was in touch! Your boyfriend failed! FAAAAILED~!"

"Moving on from that incredibly immature interjection-"

"Hey! Who're you calling immature?!"

"In the closing five minutes of the first half, the score stands at a converted try apiece, and it's a Turk lineout on their own five metre line."

"It's thrown well, and once again taken by Katana, lifted smoothly by the forwards, I'm sure there's no shortage of people who'd love to be running their hands over that lower body. But yes, Turks have maintained possession, and it's gone to Stuyve who kicks it clear, finding touch by the halfway line."

"Another lineout then, and the Turks win ball once more. We have a rolling maul, and something tells me that mauling is quite likely in the inner workings of that group"

"Use it or lose it! the cry has gone up, Janson breaks free with the ball, but Barrett tackles easily."

"Turks have a penalty, tackler not rolling away, and although it's long-range it's right in front of the posts and I think they'll go for the three points."

"This is the last play of the half now, and it's Vincent Valentine to take, those shorts actually surprisingly flattering given how pale he is. The whole stadium falls quiet as he takes his run up..."

"AND IT'S SAFELY OVER THE CROSSBAR! I LOVE YOU VINNY! YOU CAN SPLIT MY UPRIGHTS ANYTI-OW!"

"And so, at the close of the first half, Turks lead 10-7."

The two teams began once more tramping off the field, some jogging, some strolling.

Cid was grinning, an animalistic joy splitting his face as he strode to the tunnel, seeming to radiate a glorious ferocity as the sweat trickled down his brow, matting his blonde spikes. Vincent jogged past him, his tight ass moving beneath the clinging, white fabric of his shorts. Cid couldn't resist the brief urge to cop a feel, but before he could once more get a handful of that rather delicious Turk again, further pairs of boots thundered past. They filed into their separate changing rooms, one at a time, the overwhelming masculinity flooding the air with the intoxicating musk of sweat and passion. Katana strode, upright and almost ram-rod straight, proud, but wearing that same grin. The aura around all of the players was starting to seem predatory, almost hungry, and, as Sephiroth left the field, there were more than a few sighs of longing from the spectators at the sheer delicious power of the man.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"Right, now, as people return to their seats for the beginning of the second half, the teams come trooping out again, and we can see a few players stretching, showing off some rather delicious physiques."

Genesis smirked casually, casting an intense gaze around the spectators as he warmed up in the background of the rest of his team. He stretched, showing off his pleasantly toned limbs, and jogged loosely to the starting lineup, ready to chase the restart. He was the only man other than Sephiroth whose kit was still impeccably clean.

"SOLDIER take the restart, so it's Cole, who sends it straight into the safe hands of Rod."

"Rod starts off, with Jet on his shoulder. Strife and Hewley were chasing the original kick and now veer their course to intercept. It's Strife with the tackle, or, at least, attempted tackle, but he's so damn girly that his extra weight has no effect whatsoever on Rod's ballcarrying abilities. However, nice offload to Jet, to Veld, Evander, Yeni, Rude... the hooker carries it smoothly into contact and it comes back quickly. Evander to Stuyve who continues the drive forward."

"Now it's Tseng, possibly an attempt to inject some pace into this break, but once more it's all going the Turk way. We-...I mean... They, truly are the better side."

"He's tackled, taken by Rufus ShinRa, but instead of going to ground he's being held up, and the referee has called maul as the shirts pile in from both sides. It'll be interesting to see which side come away with the ball."

Breathless from the intial impact, the feeling of Rufus' hands on him was not doing much for Tseng's sense of self-control, and as he fought to get the ball away his team piling in behind him only forced him back against his intial tackler. After a few moments elsewhere, Rufus' capable hands, which had been playing him like an instrument, ripped the ball away from his almost willing grasp, and he was left panting again as the SOLDIER began a counter-attack back up the field.

"It's Sephiroth, to Rhapsados, to Jonadab, who takes it smoothly into contact, D.A. retrieves it and goes himself."

"D.A. to West, who is hit squarely by Biggie..."

"Yes, the whistle has blown. We may be facing a yellow card here, which would mean uncontested scrums for the duration, if the referee decides to send off the Turk prop for a dangerous tackle."

"If we watch it back, he was right to blow up for it, there was no attempt to get his arms around him..."

"Well, no. He just sort of stood there and waited for West to bounce off. He didn't exactly have to do anything."

"No yellow card this time, after a quiet word the referee seems to have exonerated Biggie for this. It wasn't a shoulder charge or anything, he just literally stood there and West ran into him, made no attempt to go around him or anything."

"Let's face it, it's not as if you can't see Biggie. If he's right in front of you and you're running towards him, you KNOW. He's the reason it's gone dark. It's West's own stupid fault."

"Play will resume once the medics are off the field again. No replacements, so West will be staying on."

"Unless the Turks break something vital."

"You know, I kind of hope they don't. It's far more entertaining just watching him get the shit beat out of him."

"It might knock some sense into that thick skull of his."

"I don't think even the Turks are capable of that Yuffie."

"You could be right. Anyway, so, it's a SOLDIER penalty. Will Cole kick this one, considering his less than stunning record so far?"

"I don't know, but we'll never find out if he might actually be capable of scoring anything, because Kunsel is taking it."

"Because of that wise decision, ten minutes into the second half and the scores are level again, with one converted try and a penalty apiece."

"Turk restart, but Stuyve isn't taking it this time."

"Nuh-uh, Vinny is, because he's better!"

"...never work with animals or children. Or ninjas who meet both criteria. Anyway, the Turks chase the restart well, and there's a small clash there between Tseng and-...oh..."

There was a sudden cool breeze around Sephiroth's hips, and the Silver General raised an eyebrow, staring down at the hapless and crimson Turk lying on the ground before him, a certain piece of white cloth clutched in his hand like the flag of surrender as the entire stadium around them seemed to freeze. Tseng could do nothing but stare at the revealed... well, glory was possibly the only word for it. At least everyone now knew that Sephiroth was certainly not overcompensating for anything, and that sword size was entirely comparable. The gazes of the few who weren't distracted turned speculatively to Angeal. Eventually Tseng managed to tear his gaze from Sephiroth, unfortunately, as he wavered, desperate to look anywhere but there, he met Rufus' eyes. They gleamed, colder than he had ever seen them before, and he shuddered, knowing the consequences of this would be very painful, and very delicious.

Sephiroth's lips remained in their perpetual slight smirk, eyes gleaming with a dark hunger as he jogged casually, easily, down the pitch towards the try-line, various things bobbing in the air. That movement seemed to break the spell a little, but the other players showed an understandable reluctance to try tackling the... exposed General, for fear of injuring something irreparable, and incurring his wrath.

"And... the... understandable result of that... incident..." the commentary was hesitant to say the least "Is that Sephiroth has scored... again...I..-ahem- ...oh, no, it's alright, Professor Hojo, the head SOLDIER coach is coming on with a new pair of shorts..."

A collective groan echoed around the stadium as Sephiroth's decency was restored.

"Cole misses the conversion. And I can't, in all honesty, say I blame him. That was a little... distracting."

"MORE than a LITTLE!"

"Yes, thank you Yuffie, for making that clear."

Tseng couldn't help but catch Rufus' eye again, and he shivered. Rufus was staring, with the slightest of smirks on his face, at the Silver General, and there was no other word for his expression than speculative.

"Fifteen Ten, ladies and gentlemen, or at least, those of you that are still conscious, and SOLDIER are ahead. Turks take the restart again."

"It goes ahead without incident this time... kind of a shame really, that was..."

"Interesting..." Cissnei's tone was dry, and a noise of agreement was audible from the ninja before the commentary resumed.

"Anyway, so, Lazard, to Rufus, to D.A.... he kicks it into space, but the Turks are flooding up. They have real numbers here!"

"The Turks look like they might actually be posing a threat. The ball is being carried forward by Biggie, he takes it into contact well, but then, props usually do."

"...is West twitching again?"

"Who cares. Evander recycles the ball quickly, and the attack continues, though it's now running into the solid wall of the SOLDIER defence. Valentine takes it forward, running straight into Jonadab and Lando. He gets the ball back again, by some miracle, and Katana makes his attempt, stretching for the line."

Katana's body thrilled with the feral joy of attack, of warfare. This was what he knew, and it sang in his blood as he stretched for the line, the light glancing off the lines of his glorious physique, only to be driven back. He ground his teeth, growling a little, frustrated but not defeated.

"We're halfway through the second half now, SOLDIER lead, but the Turks are making a concerted effort to level the scores."

Rufus was very careful to tackle in tandem with Sephiroth, not that he actually /needed/ any further opportunity to examine the General. Everyone had already done their fair share of ogling. He did, however, brush a hand somewhere sensitive, catching those green eyes meaningfully with his own icy ones in an instant of silent communication. When he received the answering smirk, he turned back to what he was doing, attempting to extract the ball from whichever Turk was currently lying on it, a terrifying gleam in his eye...

"They're all piling in there, yellow and black... it looks like a bumblebee! And-... the referee has blown for an infraction."

"...Rufus Shinra has been called up to speak to the referee...what?! You cannot be serious! This has to be a fucking joke! Yuffie, if you don't stop laughing, I swear to God..."

"Bahahaha! The vice-president has been sent off for dangerous play! A stiff-arm tackle on Jet according to the referee... a black eye suits him Cissnei. He should have known better than to try that on a Turk, I admire Jet's restraint! OW!"

The few spectators who weren't jeering as Rufus walked icily off the field sent interested glances up at the commentary box, which was emitting some very strange squeaks.

"And the Turks have a penalty... Stuyve takes it easily, and the score is now fifteen thirteen, SOLDIER ball."

"And, as Sephiroth proved earlier, they definitely are not short of those."

"...Moving on..."

Kunsel once more took the restart, while Cissnei observed acidly that if Cole had attempted it he probably would have broken his toe rather than kicking the ball ten metres. Play continued, with SOLDIER obviously suffering the loss of their winger when it came to defence and making breaks. The ball seemed perpetually in Turk hands, whether they were those of a runner or safely bearing it to ground to be recycled. The pressure, however, continually failed to be converted into points, and the growing frustration was obvious. Just one more score, one more score of any kind, and victory would be theirs. Tensions built as the defenders determined to keep the Turks at bay, and win by the margin they had built up, and the Turks became all the more fierce in their attacks. Penalties were awarded on both sides, but never close enough to kick for goal instead of territory, and so the battle continued.

When Rufus returned to the pitch, the scoreline remained unchanged, but the viciousness had greatly increased. Even Genesis had mud on his shorts, and a smear of white on his cheek from one of the touchlines. Sephiroth, however, remained immaculate. 

The whistle blew for a scrum, and once more the teams squared up, trading looks now, the steel of war in the eyes of the SOLDIER, the dark beast growling in those of the Turks. The sound of the impact echoed around the stadium, now silent as people watched, on the edge of their seats.

The whistle echoed again, shrill, almost deafening, and Stuyve approached the line. He closed his eyes before he took the runup, more conscious than ever of the pressure on his shoulders. If he missed this kick, he knew he probably wouldn't see the dawn. This had ceased to be a game a long time ago. The thud of boot on ball seemed strangely far off, but his aim was true, and he opened his eyes once more to see the raising of the flags, those squares of colour which meant he would survive the post-match showers.

"16-15 to the Turks, with five minutes left to play..."

Time seemed at once to pass slower than a snail, and in the blink of an eye. Like lightning, the ball was once more down the Turk end, after a successful restart for SOLDIER, but the black line held.

The clock went red, but still the assault continued, until, in a last desperate measure, Veld and Katana acted together to rip the ball out of Lazard's hands, and kick it into touch.

The whistle sounded for the final time, and the match was over.


End file.
